


Atop the Bookshop

by otakuashels



Series: Our love is Ineffable [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Couple, Cute, Established Relationship, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, Love, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 12:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20742248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otakuashels/pseuds/otakuashels
Summary: There were few things in Heaven, Hell, and Earth that ranked as acceptable for waking him up.  The puttering about of a principality angel was the top one on the list. Followed shortly by a good glass of wine, a fresh shot of whiskey, a good cup of tea and a second attempt at an apocalypse. In no particular order.





	Atop the Bookshop

There were few things in Heaven, Hell, and Earth that ranked as acceptable for waking him up. The puttering about of a principality angel was the top one on the list. Followed shortly by a good glass of wine, a fresh shot of whiskey, a good cup of tea and a second attempt at an apocalypse. In no particular order. Sunlight and noise fought for importance in the room. Two things that did not belong in his place. Two signs that signaled he was not in his own bed. The only room in his flat that was allowed to have sunlight was the entryway where his plants sat. The scent of English breakfast wafted over him. Tea. He never woke up to that, because he had it ordered (How evil was it to make a person deliver caffeine to you at 0800 before they've likely finished their own. Although he preferred to keep that inconvenience to a minimum. Anytime to wake before 1100 was hellish, or heavish, for him) 

The sheets he was curled inside were Egyptian cotton, not silk. Finally, his naked body was not stiff. Eight hours of not moving did that to a human body. Instead, he was was languid, pliable. He was in Angel's bed. The plush duvet and stack of cotton comfort were piled around him as if to stand-in for the warmth and presence of the man whose bed he was currently inhabiting. Aziraphale never slept as long as he did. For the angel, a good nights sleep was a perfectly round six hours, if he slept at all. Crowley preferred ten to thirty-six, no real rhyme or reason. Especially when he had plans. ( How chaotic is it when the one person an entire team was waiting on decided to become unreachable for a couple of days?) 

He didn't remember tumbling into bed with that many blankets. Aziraphale was always attentive to the temperature about their space, snakes didn't take to extreme or cold temperatures very well. The fabric curled comfortably beneath his fingers as he stretched, human joints popping, cracking, forming a sliver of desire for his more flexible form. The clatter of antique porcelain from the small kitchen on the second floor flat confirmed his suspicions. Aziraphale had abandoned him for the comforts and culinary pleasures of his kitchen. The angel's fridge was always fit to bursting with specialty ordered sweets, sandwiches, and other high-class foods. Crowley struggled to remember if he even had a refrigerator in his flat or not. 

Ah. Nope. Crowley did not. That's why they spent so much time here. Aziraphale had nearly had a fit. Serpent yellow eyes flicked over the room which had become so very familiar over the last several months after the not-apocalypse. He could just lope down to the kitchen in all his naked glory. That could either end in two ways: one involved acrobatics in the breakfast nook or in angry white feathers and pouting. His eyes fell onto the bottle of oil sitting next to too many books on a bookshelf. Last night the bottle had been full. There was a sudden pressure between his shoulder blades and the sunlight pouring over him was disrupted by a curtain of black feathers. They gleamed, a red sheen catching the light. Clean and all falling unnaturally perfect thanks to Aziraphaels careful grooming the night before. 

The whistling of a tea kettle prompted him up. Before tea, his angel was still open to affections without the primeness of the day ahead. He would lose his chance by the end of the second cup. Wings folded back rather than disappearing, it wasn't often that he got to have them out so he would cherish the moment, it was a shame to hide them away when they looked so lovely. All it took was a snap, a frivolous miracle, to clothe himself in a sweater with two convenient wing holes and a pair of oversized sweats that hung precariously from his shop hips and off he went. The wood floor was cold beneath his feet, wing tips brushing against the doorframe, sliding along the outdated wood paneling that the blonde refused to change. Sentimental idiot. Blue eyes and a pink mouthed smiled turned to greet him as he slipped into the kitchen. Cluttered like the rest of the house, books stuffed into places that one usually wouldn't expect, knick-knacks and thingamabobs everywhere one would look. It was ironic, really. To think that one of Gods party was a packrat. Oh, it wasn't gluttony because everything had a place and time attached to it. It was sentimental. Sunlight poured in rather large streams through the lace window curtains, abnormally bright for London of all areas. 

The principality stood inside of the puddles of light, emptying the kettle into two teacups with age-old precision. "Good morning, love." 

"A-angel" love. The endearment. After six thousand years of waiting for any sign that Aziraphael held even a semblance of the feelings he did for him, it nearly robbed him of his words every time. Even months later. The warm smile turned towards him remained just that, but surprise joined the pleased expression. 

"Your wings are out" Aziraphael hummed, moving from the counter towards him, teacups in hand. 

"Well ya did such a damned good job, figured they should be appreciated" he drawled, joints flexing, he used his wings to guide the angel in close. The distance between them just sparse enough to spare the tea. Spilling that would put him in the tub. The blonde male stared up at him with a content expression. 

"Oh dear, I appear to have been trapped by a wicked demon, whatever shall I do?" he didn't even try. Had the audacity to blow on the steaming cups with patience, watching Crowley's yellow eyes crinkled in a grin. 

"It seems you may have to make a pact with a demon in exchange for your freedom." 

"It depends on what you are asking for in return?" Aziraphale hummed, leaning into the embrace of the ebony wings nudging at his lower back, urging him closer, feathers pleasantly warm with underlying hellfire. 

"Angel, did you just admit you would consider making a pact with a demon?" now his eyes widened. 

"No," he tsked "I would never consider such a thing, something such as making a deal with just any old demon. But being discerning, one demon I certainly could" 

"Oh, ssso is that one of Her loopholes?"

"Mine" hummed the softer blonde, eyes fluttering shut as feather lips brushed his cheeks "So what will I have to sacrifice for my freedom demon?" it was on a light breath. 

"How evil would it be to steal a kiss from a principality angel yeah?" he grinned, lips curling up to reveal sharp canines, a trait that carried over from his snake form. 

"I suppose that would be evil in hells books." 

"I suppose I can take credit for that as well."

"Just like the Spanish Inquisition" Aziraphael chuckled. Crowley didn't have to initiate that one. A soft mouth pressed against his own. Azerapheal sealing the pact. Tilting his head to deepen the kiss, soft and forgiving beneath his own. Teacup miracled away in exchange for fingers finding purchase on the narrow cant of tight hips. Black painted nails clashing loudly with blonde curls. Passionate with love and without lust. Desire temporarily satiated by the actions of the night before. It was always a shock and struggle for the briefest of the moments, not to recoil. Demons weren't supposed to be loved. That was something lost to them on them after the fall, foreign to his damned nature. He was ravenous for it all. Starving. Crowley would never own up to the noise of delight, responding to the slid of fingers along his jawline, high cheekbones, slipping down the bridge of his nose before stopping to glide through red-tinted locks. Keeping him there with patience and trust. The natural heat of a demon's wings eased as a cool touch brushed over Crowley's ebony feathers, folded back by lily-white. Aziraphale pulling him closer with gossamer persuasion.

"Angel?" he wasn't sure when he had been maneuvered back onto the settee. Blinking furiously at the bright light as white wings folded back, a cup of hot tea being pressed into his hands. 

"Pact has been fulfilled dearest" the blonde smiled down at him. Crowley rolling his eyes as he watched the wings tuck and disappear. 

"This afternoon let me do yours," he blurted, and Azirapheal paused before a bright grin took over his features. 

"Of course dear," he turned as the oven beeped loudly with mechanical impatience. 

"Scones?"

"Yes," pale orange oven mitts were yanked from the counter as the angel opened the oven. "Chocolate chip" Aziraphale hummed, wrangling a wire tray onto the table as an afterthought. Crowley sniffed. His angel had chosen chai this morning. "I even have clotted cream from. The market on the corner. I got it yesterday. They said it was fresh. 

"Of course," Crowley nodded. He would have to check that. If someone had been lying to his angel, someone was going to experience a sudden bout of misfortune. Nobody lied to his angel and got away with it. Cradling the mug between his hands Crowley tucked socked feet beneath himself savoring the warmth. Fall in London was always harsh. He never did well in the change of seasons. Crowley had many cold-blooded traits that refused to go away. "Hurry up, Angel," he pressed, pulling the white textured blanket off the back of the couch dropping over spindly legs. Once Crowley had begun t spend more than just bouts of drinking in Azirapheals home, plums of blankets had appeared in every chair, couch and next to leaky windows. Always within easy reach. 

"Patience love" Azirapheal hummed, ignoring the demons impatience hiss. 

"You know we could just eat these in bed" Crowley cast a meaningful glance back towards the hall. 

"Absolutely not, no food in bed" Azirapheal chided, as his soft form turned back towards the kettle, plate in one hand the other nursing what seemed to be the second cup of tea for him. The serpent deflated ever so slightly, he was one ta cup away from out of luck. 

"You didn't have anything to say about the whipped cream and bonbons last week" Crowley pointed out, a wicked grin curling his mouth at the pink blotches that lit Azirapheals cheeks. 

"That was for a special occasion, and you know it Crowley" he mumbled, joining him on the sofa.

"Oh, don't pout."

"It took two washes to get it out of the sheets."

"You could have just miracled it away," Crowley pointed out.

"Frivolous miracle."

"I don't consider it a frivolous miracle when it would have kept at least two days of gripping from happening."

"Hush you" Azirapheal joined him on the sofa, moving into his space with ease. Balancing the oversized plate and bowl on his lap, the blonde grinned at the ginger. "There we go" with careful fingers he broke off a piece, watching the steam curl into the air before offering it to Crowley. Crowley had never quite taken to human foods as the angel had. Food was nice and all, but he didn't get the same adrenaline rush that the principality did when presented to him. But he did get a rush when he watched Aziraphaels face when Crowley ate something that the Angel had so meticulously prepared. Aziraphale cooking had vastly improved since the first time. It had taken a long time to get over that. 

Just over a hundred years ago, Azirapheal had tried his hand at baking for the first time. He had made his first loaf o bread and had been so excited to show Crowley. Crowley had obliged his excitement and taken a large bite. The bread wasn't toasted or grilled. Burnt or singed and had no nuts whatsoever to speak of. So by all accounts, it should not have been crunchy. They both learned that day that when a recipe calls for a whole ago, it does not mean in it the literal sense. Eggshells don't taste good. 

"s' good" Crowley mumbled, and Azirapheal grinned so widely that the demon briefly wondered if it was painful. He couldn't help but roll his eyes as the blonde even dared to hum a happy tune. Adorable dork. The warm kiss that pressed to Crowley's mouth confirmed it again. Worth it. "So what's the plan today?" his wings flexed as he scooted against the angel, careful not to jostle teacups. He was awarded a kiss to the temple as a reward.

"There's an auction down on Wellington..."

"You're going to make me put on pants?"

"Only for a short while I promise. Then we can come back here. Order supper? Dine-in?" a finger brushed under Crowley's jaw. "Bed early?"

"Sounds perfectly sinful" Crowley grinned as Azirapheal huffed at the word choice. 

"Must you?"

"I must. Angel" a kiss interrupted the blonde's complaints. Scones and tea all but forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> A random idea at work the other day. Thanks for reading!


End file.
